‘You lie,’ said Slavin, with deliberate emphasis.
‘Slavin,’ said Graeme quietly, ‘it’s a pity you said that, because, unless you apologise in one minute, I shall make you sorry.’
‘Apologise?’ roared Slavin, ‘apologise to you?’ calling him a vile name.
Graeme grew white, and said even more slowly, ‘Now you’ll have to take it; no apology will do.’
He slowly stripped off coat and vest. Mr. Craig interposed, begging Graeme to let the matter pass. ‘Surely he is not worth it.’
‘Mr. Craig,’ said Graeme, with an easy smile, ‘you don’t understand. No man can call me that name and walk around afterwards feeling well.’
Then, turning to Slavin, he said, ‘Now, if you want a minute’s rest, I can wait.’
Slavin, with a curse, bade him come.
‘Blaney,’ said Graeme sharply, ‘you get back.’ Blaney promptly stepped back to Keefe’s side. ‘Nelson, you and Baptiste can see that they stay there.’ The old man nodded and looked at Craig, who simply said, ‘Do the best you can.’
It was a good fight. Slavin had plenty of pluck, and for a time forced the fighting, Graeme guarding easily and tapping him aggravatingly about the nose and eyes, drawing blood, but not disabling him. Gradually there came a look of fear into Slavin’s eyes, and the beads stood upon his face. He had met his master.